Not a virgin on the rug

I was so excited about handling my first rifle at the Last Night of the Proms tomorrow, but I arrived at Heathrow Airport this evening to be told that I'd been re-assigned to play a … vacuum cleaner! The gun seemed so assertive, so decisive, so masculine; whereas a vacuum cleaner seems rather pathetic, with its scuffed hose snuffling under sofas for cat hairs and crumbs. Actually I haven't used one for a while but I do remember a disaster once when the thing blew instead of sucked, belching out a year's worth of dust and debris all over me and the furniture. I think this may end up being trickier than playing the piano.